


AFTG Bingo 2k18: The Twinyard Card

by exactly13percent (superagentwolf)



Series: AFTG Bingo 2k18 [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, I love them okay, Peripheral Relationships - Freeform, Soft Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, twinyards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/exactly13percent
Summary: AFTG Bingo 2018Andrew and Aaron are sometimes at odds, but no matter what, they always break even. They're brothers, after all.





	1. Songs on a Jukebox

Andrew sits in the booth, arms thrown over the seat. His leather jacket creaks when he shifts.

Not that Aaron is paying attention to the jacket. No. He is instead looking at the way Andrew’s shirt is hiked up his side and the shadow beneath it. The slightly darker spot that could just be a shadow, but probably isn’t.

Probably isn’t, because Andrew was just with Neil.

They’ve been _meeting_ for a few weeks, now. Before, it was just school and the auto shop. Neil would come in with his cherry-red truck and Andrew would show him how to change the oil, his face smudged and his hair messy while he pointed out what to do.

Aaron didn’t miss the way Andrew paid more attention to Neil’s face than the truck.

“So, what was it this time?” Aaron watches Andrew tap his fingers. There is a cigarette in his hand, but he hasn’t taken a drag. He is acting strange.

A shrug. “English,” Andrew submits. He finally lifts the cigarette to his mouth, but he pauses and stares at it a moment too long. “A paper.”

He is not lying. Aaron doesn’t doubt that Andrew meant to pretend the meetup was about a paper, but he also doesn’t doubt it ended far from the books they were supposed to be hitting.

_Hitting something else_ , Aaron thinks, before he violently blacks the thought out from his mind. He does not want to think about Neil, or Andrew, or Neil and Andrew.

Renee appears at the table, her usual smile in place. “The usual?”

“Yes,” Aaron mutters.

“Chocolate cherry,” Andrew says.

Aaron’s sharp gaze snaps to his brother. “Chocolate cherry?”

Andrew shrugs, as if he hasn’t ordered an Oreo milkshake for the past five years. As if he asked for an extra straw, instead of something completely different. Renee smiles and leaves, her notepad in hand.

_All right. Enough._

“Got coins?” Aaron slides out of the booth. His letterman feels too heavy, so he throws it onto the seat.

Andrew raises an eyebrow, but he fishes around his pocket. A cascade of shiny change pours onto the lemon-yellow tabletop, clattering as they tumble. Aaron slaps his hand over the pile and takes the change with him.

The mint-green floors are tiled, and the walls are a faint pink. The place has always had a washed-out aura to it, but it’s pleasant, in a way. Like a polaroid left on a bedroom wall. A good memory.

Aaron and Andrew don’t have many of those. They are working on that, though. Working on it but doing so carefully.

Or so Aaron thought.

He presses the buttons on the jukebox absently, sliding coins into the slot. One after another. He has seven tracks laid before he _feels_ Andrew’s stare on his back. He picks another six.

By the time Aaron returns, the smell of french fries is wafting from the kitchen.

“Feel like dancing?” Andrew asks, watching Aaron’s approach through lidded eyes. His head is tilted back against the bench and—

—and Aaron can _see_ a hickey poking out from the corner of Andrew’s collar and he is _done_.

“So. Why Neil?”

Andrew probably wasn’t about to answer, but the song that begins playing over the speaker distracts him. His mouth twists in disgust and he glances over his shoulder, eyes narrowed, probably looking for another person he expects chose it.

How sadly mistaken he is.

Andrew’s attention slides back to Aaron. “Why what? Why study with him? He’s a good student.”

Aaron watches his twin tap the cigarette onto a tray by the napkin holder. Andrew is not lying. He doesn’t lie.

The trick is figuring out what’s truer than the rest.

“I thought he was trouble. All the scars.”

“You have a scar.”

Aaron stares back at his brother, unimpressed. Andrew is uncaring. He shrugs and takes a drag of his cigarette. It might just be Aaron, but he thinks Andrew’s eyes flutter when he exhales. Maybe he’s thinking of Neil.

“Isn’t he trouble?” Aaron pushes. “I heard his father—”

“What did you hear?” Andrew’s reply is soft; coiled, like smoke. Dangerous.

_Fine._ He is probably right, but Aaron still doesn’t like this. Like Neil. Like the idea of Andrew, suddenly letting someone touch him and mark him and do who knows what.

Time to switch tracks. Meanwhile, the track playing around them repeats. Andrew doesn’t seem to notice. Yet.

“So. He’s one of Seth’s friends.”

Andrew shrugs. There’s an obvious twist to his lips; he probably doesn’t like being reminded. Seth can be an asshole. He may not be as loud recently, but Aaron doesn’t trust him either way. “He knows Nicky, too.”

This is news. Aaron taps his fingers on the table. Wonders what Nicky would say, if Aaron asked. He’s probably useless, though. Most pretty boys render Nicky useless.

Well. If Neil is pretty.

Renee appears again, this time with her tray. There is Andrew’s ridiculously sugared milkshake, with fudge on top and a cherry gracing the pile of whipped cream. A basket of fries without salt, because Aaron is picky about how much he wants. Two grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon and a cup of ranch dressing that Andrew says is sacrilegious.

Andrew glances at the ceiling. The smallest seed of irritation is planted in his eyes and Aaron finds it, triumphant, a flare of determination warming his chest. Renee catches his eye and he _knows_ that she knows.

She doesn’t say anything, though.

“Where does he live? You drove.” Aaron takes half of his sandwich and dips the end into the ranch. Andrew watches, nose scrunched in disgust.

“Other side of town.” Andrew stabs his straw into the milkshake before him. It sinks quietly.

“Why hasn’t he been over, then?”

“I thought you just said he was trouble.” Andrew raises an eyebrow and leans back in his seat, biting half of his sandwich at once.

Aaron doesn’t miss the switch. “I thought you said he was Nicky’s friend.”

Parry. Andrew leans in to take a sip of his milkshake. Aaron gives him two minutes of silence to eat, while the song repeats itself for the third time.

Ah.

Andrew glares up at the ceiling. His fingers twitch on his straw.

This is when Aaron starts to push. He has two more repeats to go. “He’s been around the shop a lot. Does he really wreck his truck that often?”

“He wanted to learn.” Andrew bites into his sandwich a little too savagely.

“Really? You always seem to be doing the work, though.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“You don’t like idiots.” Aaron almost laughs. _But he does, doesn’t he?_ Probably a little too much, in this case.

Andrew reaches for a napkin and manages to knock Aaron’s ranch dressing over in the process. He ignores the spill and meticulously unfolds the napkin before refolding it and shoving it under the corner of the plate they share.

_Petty little shit._

Aaron dips his french fry into Andrew’s milkshake. Andrew’s eyes narrow. “You’re right. I hate idiots.”

Andrew bats the french fry away, but it’s his cheek that ends up with whipped cream on it. His stormy gaze is almost as fantastic to see as the whipped cream.

“You really don’t think he’s a problem, do you?” Aaron frowned, one hand curling around his soda. “You don’t think it’s an issue that he’s friends with Seth, or that his family—”

“They’re not his family,” Andrew says. It is a neat, short, reply, but nothing about his expression is as simple. He stares across the table at his brother, maybe looking at their twin noses or their twin mouths or their twin eyes, although Andrew claims his are greener than Aaron’s.

Aaron waits. Just a minute later, the songs kicks in again. _One more after this._

“You want him to be part of the family, then?” Aaron asks sarcastically, because he knows the answer is no—

—it has to be—

—only Andrew doesn’t say _no_ and then they are sitting in silence and Aaron’s throat is rapidly reduced to a pinhole.

He _does_ , Aaron realizes; Andrew _does_ want Neil to be part of whatever the hell kind of family he has. Even if it’s Nicky trying to keep them afloat and Andrew working the shop for money. Even if it’s Kevin convincing his father to rent out a guest house for the three of them, so they could be close to school. Even if Andrew risks everything by simply _wanting_ Neil.

Aaron swallows. The song is changing, again. He doesn’t know what to say. He only has this left, but he isn’t sure he can ask anymore. Isn’t sure he should.

Yet still his mouth opens, because he has to ask, “You’re willing to do this?”

“Do what?” Andrew meets his eyes and Aaron thinks he sees, for the first time, that Andrew isn’t tired.

There’s always been some exhaustion in his face. It was work, Aaron always told himself, but that wasn’t entirely true. It was fighting and struggling and pushing everyone else out just to keep Aaron safe. Andrew was exhausted by life and by fighting.

He doesn’t look exhausted, right now. He looks like a guy that probably just spent an hour making out with a pretty redhead that laughs at his acidic comments and pretends he wants to learn how to take care of his truck.

Aaron nods. _Fine._ Whatever Neil is, he’s not dangerous. Not if this is what he does for Andrew.

Aaron still wants to meet him—still wants to make sure—but he isn’t as suspicious, now. “You should have him over. If he’s Nicky’s friend, Wymack will want to meet him.”

The song changes. Andrew sinks into his seat, either subconsciously or not. He tips his milkshake glass, eyes hooded and lazy as he looks out the window. “Maybe.”

“Yes,” Aaron corrects. This, at least, is necessary. Anyway, Andrew terrified Katelyn when she started dating Aaron. “Kevin will want to meet him, too. He’s the real issue. You know how hard it is to get his approval for anything.”

“I don’t need his approval,” Andrew muses. He breaks a french fry in half. Aaron stifles a laugh. “He is the least qualified when it comes to taste, anyway. He puts hot sauce in his macaroni.”

“It _is_ good, you know. Maybe you should actually try it.”

Andrew flicks his fry into the puddle of ranch. Aaron rolls his eyes and finally swipes at the mess with a napkin, shaking his head. “If you won’t try new things, neither will I.”

“For the last time, making out with Kevin is not trying something new.”

“So, you have?”

Aaron is immeasurably glad when the song changes, again. He lets Andrew sit there and glower as _What’s New Pussycat_ plays over the speakers for the sixth time.

It was worth the five dollars in change.


	2. Pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College is difficult enough to navigate without Andrew playing games with Aaron's best friend.

"Who’s that?” Andrew stares after Neil, his eyes dark.

Aaron contemplates ignoring the question, but he knows well enough that Andrew will just ask again. Or smack the back of his head. He grudgingly submits, “Neil.”

“Ah. The infamous Neil,” Andrew echoes. There is a gleam in his eye that Aaron does not like.

This is why he didn’t want Neil to walk him to gym, but Neil insisted, because Andrew recently broke the nose of some guy that called the twins the f-slur and Neil said _someone’s either going to think you’re him or just be pissed enough to hit you_.

_You make people want to hit you, sometimes._

So, Neil had come with Aaron to the gym, and Andrew saw him.

“Leave it.” Aaron passes his brother—his _twin_ —and tries to redirect attention. “Are we doing that test in class today?”

“Leave it,” Andrew repeats mockingly. “You didn’t mention he had scars.”

Aaron’s mouth flattens into a thin line. _Of course not. I knew what you would say._ “They’re old.”

“Old and deep,” Andrew muses. He has an unlit cigarette between his fingers, and he flips it absently.

Aaron snatches the stick and grinds it before throwing it over his shoulder, moving into the gym. He is not going to give Andrew an opening. He’s not going to pretend that it’s okay if Andrew wants to haze Neil just because he’s a stranger.

He _understands_. He just doesn’t want to do it, this time.

Maybe Aaron doesn’t want to because Neil doesn’t mind that Aaron doesn’t talk much, or because Neil is just as sarcastic. Because Neil follows all Aaron’s directions when they’re doing a lab together. Because Neil brought Aaron a tuna sandwich just a week ago, because apparently, he remembered from their first week of stupid icebreakers that it was Aaron’s favorite, and Aaron never has time to eat before Chemistry.

“You know the rules.” Andrew leans into Aaron’s shoulder as they walk, his weight heavy. “I get to test him.”

Aaron presses his lips together to fight the _no_ that is waiting there. He can say it, but he should not. They have a rule. A rule, because the first person Aaron tried to befriend at college nearly threw him out a window and Andrew wasn’t going to have that.

At least that guy didn’t wind up dead. It was a show of restraint from Andrew.

Fortunately, Aaron knows Neil is safe. It’s just his mouth that might get him in trouble.

_This is going to be a terrible idea._

* * *

Andrew pulls a sweater on over his armbands and stares down at his chest. “You know, it’s funny that people think you’re straight. Look at this.”

“Fuck off.” Aaron yanks on a black turtleneck and his hair is a mess when he pops up again. “We’re going to be late.”

“You mean, I am.”

“Actually, I am.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow at his brother. It is abundantly obvious that Aaron is nervous. He keeps glancing at his phone. Maybe he warned Neil; Andrew doesn’t care. “Fix it.”

“What?” Aaron turns, still frowning. Andrew reaches out, his finger meeting the crown of his brother’s head. He flips the hair over Aaron’s left eye to the other side.

Aaron sighs. He _is_ nervous. Andrew can see it in the way he fidgets.

He must actually care about Neil. Stupid.

“Do we—”

“Yes,” Andrew says shortly. “We really do.”

The only concession Andrew makes is that Aaron drives. He’s not a fan of handing over his keys, but this is the price he pays for ensuring Aaron isn’t making a mistake. Again.

The school is already bustling when they pull up. There are students everywhere, some coming and some leaving. Andrew pities the ones that chose eight o’clock morning classes. He makes a point not to come to campus until at least ten.

Aaron almost bolts and Andrew has to slam a hand onto his arm, hissing through his teeth. “Not smooth, Aaron Michael.”

“ _Fine_ , Andrew Joseph.”

Aaron snatches his arm away and glares. Andrew just smiles as vacantly as he can. “Better. Except my glare isn’t as pitiful.”

Aaron snorts and throws his car door open. Andrew wonders what the hell has him so worked up and assumes it’s Neil, but his eyesight isn’t the best with faces, long-distance. Besides, Andrew is only pretending to be Aaron. He doesn’t actually care about finding Neil.

His first class is supposed to be Chemistry. Andrew looked at the notes last night while Aaron glared balefully from a corner of their dorm.

The lecture hall is enormous. Andrew stops on the way for coffee, because Aaron gave him ten dollars for it and Andrew is not above taking a bribe. Even if it won’t sway him.

“Oh. Hi.”

Andrew turns to find a familiar face. Neil.

It is at this point that Andrew realizes Neil is in one of his classes. His Eighteenth-Century Women Poets class, to be exact.

Well.

Neil’s eyes are blue; very blue, gleaming as he slides into the seat next to Andrew. His hair is red-brown and messy, and unlike in the poetry class, his hoodie is pushed off his head. He…

…might be pretty.

Neil ruffles his hair absently, nose red from the late fall weather.

_Fine, he is. Doesn’t change anything._

“What?” Neil smiles, bemused.

 _Hm._ Andrew did not anticipate that it would be hard to imitate Aaron, but Neil is distracting. There are secrets in the corners of his mouth and the depths of his blue eyes.

“Nothing. Andrew was trouble this morning.” He settles for a shrug and flips his book open.

Neil’s brow furrows. He pauses, then closes his mouth and nods to himself. Whatever he wanted to say to Aaron goes unsaid and he sets up his space. It is only two minutes later that Andrew finds himself staring at the layout—

—the notepad with scribbled notes, the assorted stationary, and _the pen with a little fox on top_.

Andrew may stare for a little too long. Neil looks up from his little square, eyebrows raised to his stupid red hair. “What? Your present?”

Neil grins and lifts the fox pen. He taps it against his lips and Andrew very pointedly looks away.

Class doesn’t matter to Andrew. What matters instead is the way Neil leans back in his chair, the legs tilted so far, he might fall if a breeze hits him the wrong way. Neil rolls a pencil in his mouth, his eyes illuminated unnaturally by the glow of the projector. When he tilts his head, Andrew catches the flash of a bright object beneath Neil’s hair. It might be an earring.

Andrew is paying so much attention to Neil that he almost misses the papers passed back to him. They slap his cheek and he almost vaults across the table, an itch under his skin.

Neil is the one that intervenes. He slaps the offending hand away and takes the papers, his mouth twisted in irritation. Andrew wants to snap at the concern, but he notices Neil doesn’t spare him a glance. Maybe he isn’t concerned. Maybe it’s something else.

“Where are your glasses?” Neil murmurs. He slides two copies of the handout onto the table before passing the rest back.

 _Glasses._ So, Neil knows more than most. Aaron usually doesn’t take his glasses to school. Not unless he’s having a hard day, or he’s sick.

Which means that almost three months ago, when Aaron had a cold and took his glasses to class, he knew Neil.

Andrew shrugs. “Forgot.”

He’s not sure if Neil believes it, but Neil doesn’t ask anything else. Thankfully.

Andrew just hopes that trend continues for the rest of the day.

* * *

Neil is fully aware that the person walking with him to Calculus is not Aaron. He is curious, though, so he plays along. Whatever game Andrew is playing, Neil wants to find out who wins. If there’s a winner.

It’s not as if Neil is ignorant of Andrew’s existence. They do have one class together, and last semester, Neil spent most of his huge Biology lecture watching Andrew silently radiate hostility at the front left corner of the classroom.

Neil preferred to stay at the very back, near the door and away from everyone else’s eyes.

The one thing that Andrew apparently forgot was his earrings. They are flat black and glossy, shining obsidian when he turns his head to find Neil. To his credit, he does a good job of imitating a blank expression. Unfortunately for him, Aaron isn’t really _blank_ when he looks at Neil.

Aaron might be distant, but Neil can always find the spark in his eyes.

“Something wrong with _you_?” Andrew hikes his backpack onto his shoulder as he presses the elevator button.

Neil is going to answer, but the elevator jolts and he stumbles into Andrew.

_Oh, no._

He barely catches himself with a hand on the wall. Neil tries not to come too close—he’s noticed Andrew doesn’t like people invading his space—but it’s hard to avoid. Neil breathes, and he can see Andrew’s hair flutter, pale bangs shifting.

 _His eyes are greener._ Neil notices this the way he notices the small freckle by Andrew’s right eye, a birthmark or maybe an old scar that distinguishes him from his twin the way everything else does.

“You’re falling,” Andrew says shortly. He is trying to stay even, Neil thinks, and he is barely holding on at all. “You sure you’re not sick or something?”

“I’m not.” Neil straightens and pulls his jacket over his shoulders. He fights a smile. “That’s a new cologne, isn’t it?”

Andrew pauses. It lasts only a few seconds, but it’s telling. He shrugs, and it is almost a perfect imitation; sloppy, unfettered. Relaxed. It is _almost_ perfect.

What Andrew still lacks is…Aaron. Neil isn’t sure how to define it; all he knows is that _Aaron_ is different. He has a way about him.

That, and Neil isn’t attracted to Aaron.

Andrew immediately leaves the elevator as the doors open. Neil smiles to himself and follows. “It’s right, remember? We’re in a different room today.”

Andrew’s tongue clicks. “Right.”

He’s pretending. His feet were already pointing in the right direction. Neil just hides a smile and keeps following him.

* * *

Neil likes Aaron.

Andrew knows this for several reasons. He knows because of Neil’s curious glance in the morning. Because of the elevator, when Neil leaned close and his ears reddened. Because in calculus, Neil leaned his head in his hand and smiled sideways at Andrew, eyes crinkling at the corners and a secret on his lips.

 _Aaron doesn’t even know it._ Andrew knows, because Katelyn and Aaron are still dating, and Aaron is oblivious. Because Aaron hardly recognizes his attraction to some men, and it would be impossible to make him realize it in someone else.

At lunch, Aaron stares at them from across the cafeteria. He’s with Nicky and Kevin, probably complaining about the entire scheme.

“I guess Andrew is having a bad day.” Neil smiles and it’s that secret Andrew sees—the secret that Andrew has realized is attraction.

Andrew shrugs, but it’s becoming difficult to keep up the act. Especially when he’s not invested in it.

Neil is not a problem—not in the way that matters. Nothing about him is violent or dangerous. He has his secret smiles and his quiet hands. He moves slowly, and his hoodie is soft. Neil doesn’t talk too much, and he lets Andrew walk against the wall, acting as a buffer against the foot traffic of the university as much as he can. Neil might be good for Aaron. He might be _good_.

Which is why Andrew does not want to be the one Neil is moving closer to, as they take their seats at a table by the cafeteria windows.

“You know, you don’t have to—”

Neil never finishes. Whatever he is about to say is lost when someone trips by their table, their tray jolting and salad flying across the area surrounding them. Andrew blinks and suddenly, there’s carrot in his bangs.

This might be the most annoying thing that has happened, yet.

A moment after the silence and the inevitable apology of the exhausted student, Andrew finds Neil stifling a laugh. It burbles up anyway, his eyes crinkled and shining. “You…you’ve got…may I?”

His hand. It is close to his chest, but he is asking.

Neil _asks_ , and that is what tells Andrew this is right.

“Yes.”

Neil picks out salad, something fond and soft in his expression, and Andrew—

—can’t.

He cannot steal this; cannot take this kindness that is not meant for him. This care. This…

… _it’s not love, it can’t be love, don’t call it love._

Neil looks up and Andrew realizes how close he is. How Neil’s breath whispers against his skin again, just like the elevator, but _worse_. Worse, because Andrew can see his freckles and the faint scars on his face from who knows what.

This is worse. It is all worse because Andrew _wants_ Neil, wants the warmth in his honey skin and curved smile. Andrew wants to know what the secrets he holds in his bright blue eyes are and he wants to know how careful those hands can be.

He can’t.

Not when he is not himself, to Neil.

“Hey,” Neil starts, the word uneven and a blush rising to his cheeks. He is going to move closer and he is going to do something, and Andrew blurts—

— “You really are an idiot, aren’t you? Can’t even tell us apart?”

_Well, good job. Now he’s definitely never going to like you._

Except Neil smiles and the twinkle in his eyes is some fucking secret, a _secret_ Andrew wants to know, and then Neil opens his mouth and tells him like he can hear Andrew’s thoughts. “I know, Andrew. I knew when you sat with your leg on the seat of your chair in Chemistry.”

“You—what.” Andrew can’t manage any more. He doesn’t know if he forgot or if he didn’t think of it; he doesn’t know _anything_ , apparently, because this entire day, _Neil knew_. Which means— “You…that was—”

Neil still lingers too close. His hand hovers near Andrew’s face, waiting. There’s a rolling cart by them and they are out of sight, hidden from the rest of the cafeteria even while the wide window exposes them to the sun outside.

“Andrew,” Neil whispers. “Can I touch you?”

“I already said yes.” It’s not an answer. Not a proper one. It also comes out strained.

Neil reaches out. He pushes away the hair at Andrew’s ear and then he whispers, _so close,_ “You also forgot the earrings.”

Andrew is filled with rage and—

—and _he wants this_ , so he says, “Shut up and kiss me, Josten.”

There’s something joyful in Neil’s eyes when he hears his last name and Andrew realizes, a little too late, that Neil may not exactly know that Andrew knows his name. Remembers it from the very first day of class.

It doesn’t matter. What matters is the way Neil leans in, his breath warm, and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Andrew says, and he can only bring himself to sound a little annoyed at having to answer.

It is worth it when Neil kisses him, soft lips and honeyed mouth, and Andrew does not care that he is dressed like Aaron or that they are in the middle of the cafeteria. All he cares about is tasting the curve of Neil’s smile and chasing after the secrets behind his lips.

Andrew can practically _feel_ Neil’s blush and then he hears the moan in Neil’s throat, delighted and airy, and Andrew has to back away before he forgets what he’s doing.

Neil’s eyelashes are stupid and long and they flutter as he opens his eyes, a little dazed, like he is the one that pretended not to know what was going on all day.

“I’m going back to my dorm,” Andrew announces suddenly, because he cannot fathom the blush on Neil’s cheeks or the way his eyes drag across Andrew’s lips. “I’m done for today.”

“Okay.” Neil smiles slowly, a little drunken and silly looking, and Andrew _shouldn’t_ like it. “Can I see you again?”

“We have class together.”

Neil grins wider. “I sit at the back.”

“Then I guess you’ll see me.”

Andrew lingers just to hear Neil’s laugh. He can admit that much.

* * *

 

Aaron knows the second he sees Andrew leave the cafeteria, backpack slung over his shoulder haphazardly. He knows when Neil kicks his shoes against the floor, legs swinging.

"I knew this was a bad idea," he mutters, staring down at his salad.

Nicky laughs. "Better catch your best friend before he leaves. I get the feeling you'll be seeing more of Andrew's new boyfriend, though."

Aaron doesn't say anything. Nicky's right.

_Well, at least Andrew didn't kill him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This...seems more Andreil than Twinyards...I may have failed....


	3. If/Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron happens to be at Andrew's, during the holidays. Neil is there, too. Maybe Aaron isn't an expert when it comes to his brother, but he's learned, and he knows something is up. They're overdue for this conversation, anyway.

Aaron is sitting on the counter with a cup of coffee in his hands. It is too early in the morning, but Neil runs at seven— _force of habit_ —and some mornings, even Andrew can’t convince him to stay in bed.

Well. Sometimes Andrew doesn’t try. He prefers grumbling and burrowing under the sheets, according to Neil.

So, Aaron has his coffee and a sweater because it’s winter break, and his glasses are shoved onto the top of his head because they keep fogging. This is…nice. It is nice to be there, Andrew frowning over the pastries Neil bought yesterday, the kitchen a softly glowing haven of warmth and Neill’s half-smiles.

Maybe Aaron shouldn’t be here and maybe he still feels uncomfortable crashing—he’s never seen Andrew _this_ happy—but he didn’t really have anywhere else that came to mind, when he was told _I think we need space and time_.

“Croissant?” Neil has the pastry bag in his hand, silently dangling it out of reach of Andrew, who has the kinetic energy of someone who was just moving. He might have been trying to climb Neil. Aaron has seen it happen before.

Aaron shrugs. “I’ll take what’s left.”

“What do you like?” Neil counters, lowering the bag enough to look inside. “We live here. We visit all the time.”

“Liar.” Andrew takes a bite of his Danish, icing smearing on the corner of his mouth. “You don’t let me.”

“If we went every time you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able to roll out of bed.”

Neil smiles, but Andrew…something is wrong with Andrew. Aaron can tell; he’s better now, three years out of college and therapy with Bee and the fiasco that was the Foxes’ first win. Aaron knows the curve of tension in Andrew’s fingers and the frustration between his eyebrows, the little furrow betraying some bigger problem.

Aaron takes the bag Neil offers and pulls out a croissant. It’s buttery in his fingers and he bites one end, surprised by how papery and soft it is.

“We were thinking of looking for Christmas gifts today,” Neil muses, lifting his coffee to his lips. The mug stops before it reaches his mouth. “If you still had shopping, maybe you could come. Or we could always wait. There’s a market at the city center.”

“We can’t wait to buy the presents,” Andrew says briskly. “And he still needs to call Nicky and pick up his mail.”

Neil frowns a little, to himself, probably because he knows something is wrong and he doesn’t want to push. Neil is careful—so careful—and the way he navigates Andrew is almost transfixing. Aaron feels a little bit like shaking him and asking, _why don’t you say something, you should say something_ , because Andrew is supposed to be practicing better communication skills; because Bee left him with that task, at least.

Aaron takes the easy way out. “I’ll be fine. I have my car. We can meet for lunch, or something.”

Neil hums and takes a sip of his coffee. Almost to himself, he muses, “We should make a key. You should have one.”

“Not now.” Andrew’s response cracks like glass and suddenly, Aaron can see the quiet shattering. The dust of it crumbles at his feet and Aaron feels like he should be anywhere else at all—

—but he _shouldn’t_ , because Bee told him not to run from Andrew like this, because Andrew unravels, and he will keep going like unspooled thread until he hits something, or someone reaches out to stop him.

Neil quietly sets his coffee on the counter. He takes this in stride, but he _can’t_ ; Aaron just doesn’t know how to read him, and when Neil walks away, Aaron is almost floored by the careful brush of Neil’s hand on his shoulder.

Aaron is left with the silence and Andrew, whose frustrated hand curls around his mug.

This could be something he should not push, but Aaron doesn’t know. He is tired, and he spent yesterday driving over to Andrew and Neil’s, his mind a hazy canvas of memories and the car radio not loud enough to drown out the thoughts.

He is probably still in shock about the holidays taking a turn this way.

“What is it about you and keys?” Aaron slides one of his feet up the counter and crosses it over his other leg, rubbing his fingers against his mug. It’s blue and there’s a fox on it. He assumes it’s Neil’s.

Andrew’s glare is sharp. Defensive, Aaron has learned. “It isn’t me and keys.”

So, it’s Neil. At least, to Andrew. Aaron hums and takes another bite of his croissant.

“Do you not want me to have a key?”

More silence. Andrew looks down at his mug, one eyebrow arched just a little. Like he sees something in its depths that is more interesting than the conversation. He’s really just avoiding Aaron.

Aaron tries not to sigh. “You don’t have to, you know. Want me to have one.”

“But?” Andrew looks up, mouth twisted.

He’s angry at _himself_ , Aaron realizes. Maybe angry at reacting badly to Neil’s suggestion; maybe angry at the knee-jerk refusal to let Aaron closer. Whatever Andrew is angry about, he has turned it on himself, and Aaron—

—well. He can’t have that.

Andrew always turns things on himself, a child with a mirror, playing at reflecting the sun and watching things burn. Except he’s always the one the mirror is turned on. _People used to think you could trap souls, that way._

“But nothing,” Aaron says shortly. He taps his mug a little too harshly on the counter when he sets it down. “It’s _your_ damn home. You get to decide who can come in.”

Well, maybe that was bit too reactive. He’s not supposed to be reactive.

Andrew leans against the counter, ironic twisted grin, and the edge to him is evident. “Do I? Just me? Because it’s not just mine.”

Aaron pauses. He knows this is not true because of the conversation last night and he probably shouldn’t say it, but he does, “This isn’t Neil’s place, too. He doesn’t have a key.”

Oh.

_He doesn’t have a key._

The _not now_ isn’t just about this, Aaron realizes; it is about something that happened before he ever came. Maybe it has been festering and Neil, as patient as he is, has given Andrew space. Only, Andrew festered in that space and now, he’s reflecting all his darkness back into the corners of his heart.

“You haven’t given him one. Wh—” Aaron stops short, swallows the question. He instead drags his words up by a string. “You don’t have to give him one. You don’t have give anyone this space. It’s yours.”

“Yes. It’s mine,” Andrew repeats, but his eyes flick toward the bedroom and one of his feet is still pointed in the direction Neil walked off.

Aaron resists the urge to cover his face with his hand. It’s buttery. “You are a very bad liar.”

“It is not a lie.”

“Fine. You can’t misdirect.”

“I’m not trying to.”

Aaron almost laughs. This, at least, he can deal with. Maybe it helps, too. It is drawing Andrew out, allowing him to snap in a safe way, reminding him not to hold his tongue. As if he ever has.

“So. You want to give him a key,” Aaron finally submits. “You do.”

Andrew crosses his arms. Posture signaling. Yet he opens his mouth and says, “This should be mine.”

Aaron shrugs. “It can still be. Something tells me he isn’t going to suddenly take over and drape the place in orange.”

Andrew’s lip curls at the thought. This time Aaron does laugh, quiet and short. He can already see it. Neil draping the living room wall in a Fox flag, little pennants for their respective teams flanking the one they will always belong to. Go back to.

Neil stupidly buying far too many blankets and piling them on Andrew in the evenings, when they both happen to be home from practice and in the same city.

Aaron imagines that Andrew has probably imagined the same things, and probably found himself wanting them. Wanting, for the first time, something more permanent than a promise or a game or truths given on a rooftop.

They are not the same, but they are the same, and so are Andrew and Aaron, which is why Aaron knows exactly what Andrew is lashing out for. He is scared.

He doesn’t want to give up this last inch on the field; doesn’t want to cede the territory he’s always violently protected. Andrew always has somewhere to hide—to lash out from—and he is letting Neil in that space. He is allowing someone in; someone that watches him, careful hands and quiet mouth, ready to retreat to another room when things become too difficult. When Andrew is broken glass.

“You said not now,” Aaron muses. “If not now, then when?”

Andrew’s glimmering gaze shifts to him. “I thought taking my time was fine.”

“Sure. But I think we both know it’s inevitable. He has a drawer.”

“You people and your _drawer_ ,” Andrew says mockingly, but he doesn’t refute the point

Aaron snorts and slides off the counter to wash his mug. Neil’s mug. Andrew’s mug. Who knows; maybe it’s both. “If you’re waiting for something, fine. But if you’re waiting…what’s the point?”

Andrew is quiet. He doesn’t reply, but Aaron can feel his contemplation like a cloud over his shoulders. The turmoil of a storm and the rain, breaking just enough for sun to get through. Andrew is a downpour and Neil’s warmth can only fight so much, before the rain has to fall.

It’s fine, though. Maybe it won’t be flowers once this is over, but at least Andrew won’t spark like lightning.

“Don’t break it,” Andrew mutters. He slides his mug onto the sink next to Aaron’s elbow. “It’s his favorite one.”

Andrew’s mug has a grumpy cat on it. Aaron snorts.

Neil is on the couch. He waits there, reading something on his phone, knees pulled up to his chin. Andrew goes to sit by him and Aaron watches it—the way Neil unfolds, relaxing as Andrew pointedly rests an arm on Neil’s shoulder. It looks like a casual touch; like leaning against a friend. Except Aaron knows this for what it is. He knows the apology that is waiting on Andrew’s tongue, and how hard it is for him to give voice to it.

Aaron knows his brother. Whatever else has changed this winter—whatever his life is going to be, once the season ends and he has to decide where he’s living—Aaron knows Andrew. He knows Andrew like himself, two sides to a coin, and he knows that Andrew will be fine.

This is all that really matters. Aaron can take change and pain and life, just so long as they remain. So long as he can always find Andrew, annoyed or angry or unraveling under Neil’s careful touch, but still _Andrew_.

The rest of the day isn’t as hard as he thought it would be, and when they meet for lunch, Andrew hands him a key. “Don’t lose it. I’m not making another one.”

Aaron rolls his eyes, but he also notices that something glimmers beneath Neil’s shirt. It’s on the chain that Neil uses to hang Andrew’s college ring; the one Wymack insisted the twins buy and the one Andrew pretended to hate, right up until Neil jokingly slipped it on his thumb and Andrew never asked him to take it off.

Keys, Aaron thinks. They’re pretty important, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmmyup i may be feeling things about keys and holidays but y'know it's all good


	4. A Notebook Full Of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bee tells the boys to write to each other in a notebook. The results are...amusing.

Andrew,

This isn’t going to work if you don’t fucking write. ~~It’s your stupid~~ Okay, Neil started this, so if you want to complain, maybe go bitch at him. It’s not like I asked for this whole thing. I wasn’t the one that butted in on this shit.

Let’s just do this.

 

* * *

 

A-

Technically it was Bee that suggested writing. Because you won’t talk.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

Are you really going to give me shit about talking? Your double standards are baffling. This isn’t something I ever wanted to drag out. But I guess you have whatever the fuck with Neil, and he can’t just stay out of it.

We’re going to have to deal with this. If you insist on Bee, that’s how it will work.

 

* * *

 

A-

If you want to talk about double standards, we can, but it won’t help you. In fact, it may make things worse.

This isn’t about Neil. Stop trying to make it.

Bee was right about deflecting. You really don’t want to face yourself, do you?

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

Are we really going to talk about facing things, because if so, you’re screwed.

 

* * *

 

A-

If we’re talking about facing things, maybe we should talk about the car accident and how you conveniently forgot my promise.

Maybe you’re the one that’s screwed.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

You can’t ignore this just because of practice. It’s been four days. Bee is going to notice. I thought you liked her. At least as much as you’re capable of liking anyone.

I don’t get why you’ll talk to a fucking stranger but you won’t talk to people that are supposed to be your friends or family. How the fuck am I supposed to communicate with you if you won’t even write to me?

Hi, Bee, this is bullshit. You’ve gotta see that he’s not talking. It’s not going to work.

 

* * *

 

Boys,

I know this isn’t fun, but you’ve spoken more here than you did in my office. You might be arguing, but at least you’re talking, now.

Aaron, why do you think Andrew is more comfortable talking to me?

Andrew, you have to give Aaron something if you want something from him, remember?

 

* * *

 

A-

I find it hard to justify exchanging anything with you, after your first mistake. You can’t have it both ways.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

That was a mistake. Like you said. If you just try, I’m listening right now. I’ll talk.

 

* * *

 

A-

That was the worst pass I’ve ever seen in my life. Are you too busy looking at Katelyn to pay attention to the game?

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

I’m not the one staring at ~~Ne~~ the striker’s ass instead of watching the goal.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

 ~~There’s~~    ~~A lot has~~

Look, I know it’s been a lot. I may not know what the fuck happened with you two or why the hell you decided he was a good idea, but I know you don’t just choke someone for no reason.

Especially you.

Anyway, I know this is probably a lost cause, but I wanted to say that.

 

* * *

 

A-

~~You think I don’t know he’s~~

 

* * *

 

A-

I know you fucking said something

 

* * *

 

A-

Don’t avoid me Aaron Michael

 

* * *

 

Andrew Joseph Minyard,

He speaks.

 

* * *

 

Aaron Michael Minyard,,,

I am astounded that anyone thinks you are the reasonable one, or the normal one, or any variant.

What exactly did you do? I am just curious, after you spent such a long time going on about how it’s not anyone’s place to meddle. Who’s the hypocrite, now?

If you would like me to talk, maybe I will. I could talk about how you ignored the promise I made, or how you failed to give me the support I gave you. Except I don’t need your support. I do not need you to help me now that everything is over and you feel guilty. I don’t need your guilt or your pity.

I don’t need you to look at me like I am a broken plate to fix.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

The next time you have a manic episode, come find me. Don’t fucking look for the notebook.

 

* * *

 

A,

I had help. And I didn’t have to look for it.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

I heard you tearing up the room. You mean Neil?  Or Kevin? You realize they’re not exactly stable themselves. Don’t go holding onto a fraying rope.

 

* * *

 

A,

And there’s the hypocrisy. I missed it.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

I’m tired. I am tired of trying and being shot down.

But you know what? I’m still going to fucking write.

I don’t know how smart it is for you and Neil to be whatever you are, but I know he helps. He does something good; he has to, because he managed to stop you from going too far so many times I should have seen it coming sooner.

Kevin has a one-track mind and he’s a drama queen, but I know he told you something that made you keep going, at least for a while. I don’t know if it was about Exy or fighting, but since it’s Kevin I’m going to assume it was Exy. Maybe that’s not the best thing to live for, but at least you’re fucking living.

We didn’t have a choice, Andrew. I didn’t have a choice. They took you and didn’t take me, and that was fucking stupid, it was a slip of the hand and it was stupid, and it could have been either of us.

I have a choice now, and I’m not going to let your fucking stubborn ass dictate how this goes. I’m trying my goddamn best and it might be the worst, but I’m trying.

Also you should lock the fucking door to the roof when you and Neil go to make out. I might care about you, but I don’t care about that.

 

* * *

 

A-

You realize it wasn’t fate or chance. She took you.

Not that it matters. I don’t give a fuck. Talking about that isn’t going to help.

I’m so glad you approve of Kevin. It’s not like I do. He’s an idiot. At least he’s learning. Anyway, if you want to talk about choices, maybe stop choosing to take the fucking notebook with you to class. I can’t goddamn write if it’s not here.

Also, you should know by now to stay off the roof. That’s on you.

* * *

 

Andrew,

Yeah. I don’t know if it would have helped not to take either of us. Maybe.

I thought I left it on the desk. I usually leave it on the desk.

The roof isn’t your private spot. What are you going to do when maintenance drops by? You’ve gotta know other people probably go up there, too.

 

* * *

 

A-

I guess the world could have used two of me.

You’re an idiot, you realize it’s the same color as your biology notebook? You got problem 3 wrong, by the way. You forgot to convert. I don’t think your professor checks all your problems, because you got a perfect score.

Didn’t say it was mine, but no one else is using it. Maintenance doesn’t come up. Other people can fuck off.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

You’re right, it wouldn’t have helped.

I guess calling me an idiot is better than not saying anything at all. Now I have to talk to the fucking professor. Thanks, jerk.

Please don’t use that phrase, it’s too close to the other one.

 

* * *

 

A-

You know, one of these days, I am going to dump your shit out all over the floor. Buy a new biology notebook.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

Go on and try it, your boyfriend will fall on his ass when he tries to sneak in during the day.

 

* * *

 

_Aaron Michael Minyard, Neil is not my boyfriend and we both know he can sneak when he wants to._

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

I swear to God, just room together, I’m sick of finding the redhead with his stupid fucking jean shorts on the bed.

 

* * *

 

A,

At least it’s only him on the bed.

 

* * *

 

Aaron,

You realize it’s going to be hard to keep this up now that we’re several states apart.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

We’ve always been several states apart. Suck it up.

 

* * *

 

Aaron,

I hear you fucked up the installation of your new tv. Guess not all doctors are smart.

The new place is good. Close enough to where I have to practice. Neil says it’s got good lighting but he’s an idiot, so who knows.

Neil also told me to ask you what kind of sheets you want for the air mattress. He says he doesn’t care but he’s lying. He likes jersey.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

Listen, I’m going to be a doctor, not a repairman. Anyway, the damn thing is heavy. Wasn’t my fault I got frustrated.

I’m sure you don’t notice the sun the same way you didn’t look at how open the space was. I know you considered a studio just so Neil could see the door from every corner. He’s not the only one lying about caring.

Jersey’s fine. I bet he likes it because it feels like his crappy shirts.

 

* * *

 

Hi Aaron. Andrew didn’t let me read anything, but he says I can leave a note. (I like jersey because it feels like his shirts, but he won’t know that until I leave, because I told him not to read my note yet.) I hope you’re doing all right. Nicky said he’d ask if I can visit with him when he comes over in a bit. You don’t have to say yes. – Neil

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

I am beyond eager to hear from you after you read that last note. If Neil’s around, tell him that he is disgusting, and he can visit.

I’m thinking about asking Katelyn to move in.

I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I’m not even sure if this will last, or if I’ll end up having to split all the furniture and eat at the kitchen sink. I don’t even know why I’m thinking that far ahead. I mean, if you and Neil can make it, it shouldn’t be so hard for me.

That was kind of shitty. Sorry. I know I talk shit, but I know he’s good with you. Maybe you two aren’t going to be a fucking hallmark card anytime soon, but you’re not as sharp when he’s around. That’s good.

I’ll see you soon. Just remember not to buy another knife for the Christmas gift exchange. You know Renee and Neil are the only ones that will use something like that, and you can get your boyfriend a gift on its own. No cheating this time.

 

* * *

 

Aaron,

It’s not cheating. Anyway, Allison liked it, too. She tried to steal it from him.

You’re not going to know anything by not doing it. Didn’t you tell me something about that recently? What were your words? _If not now, when?_

You should listen to yourself. Sometimes you actually don’t sound like a stuck-up idiot.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

Gee, thanks. I love you too, jerk.

 

* * *

 

Aaron,

You said it first.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

I swear to God if you refuse to talk to Neil for one more day I’m going to yeet myself over a cliff, he won’t stop talking to me. When I said we could be friends I didn’t mean I wanted to hear from him this much.

This is a stupid argument, Andrew. You know how you feel. Don’t lie to yourself just because you don’t want things to change. Remember how this started?

 

* * *

 

Aaron,

I have perfect memory. No one’s forcing you to talk to him. And if he’s over there all the time, maybe you should be the one finding a new place with him.

 

* * *

 

Aaron,

The next time you send Neil to me in that outfit is the last time you breathe.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

Don’t lie. You liked it.

 

* * *

 

Aaron,

~~Neil tells me~~

I actually do love you, jerk. I’m not sure why everyone needs to use specific words or say specific things, because not everyone is that specific.

Anyway.

If I can manage to say it once, I can say it again, and I should say it to you.

I love you.

Now, take a minute to answer my agent’s email so I can publicly come out. Neil’s going to be pissed if I don’t tell him, too, and you know how I like to be dramatic.

 

* * *

 

Andrew,

I’m happy for you. But the next time someone asks me who’s the queer brother, I think I’ll have to let them down and say there doesn’t have to be just one.

I love you too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what happened to my formatting and i'm too tired to fix it now YEET  
> * now edited but don't @ me i am tired okay


	5. Free Space [At the Dinner Table]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bee tells Aaron to bring his best friend to dinner. Things are...interesting.

Aaron is shiftily stabbing salad on his plate and Andrew knows something is up.

“Can I visit Neil this weekend?”

Bee pauses. “Neil. He lives with the Moriyamas, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” Andrew answers, the first thing he’s said all dinner. “How risky. Letting one of them into the house.”

Aaron glares at his twin and then drags his gaze back to Bee. He is pretending to be patient and it is not working. “His uncle lives overseas. That’s why he’s staying with them. Anyway, _Kevin_ lived with them for a while.”

“Yeah, when he didn’t know coach fucked his mom.”

Bee levels a look at Andrew that clearly says _too much_. Andrew bites his tongue, just this once, because she is probably tired from work.

He also expects her to say no.

Neil hasn’t met Bee, and she likes to meet friends. Not that Aaron has many. He has Katelyn, and he sometimes has Nicky over. Nicky doesn’t count, though. He’s their cousin.

Anyway, Bee is very careful about vetting their friends, and Andrew respects that insomuch as most of Aaron’s decisions are idiotic. In Andrew’s opinion.

“He’s your age?” Bee prods cautiously.

Aaron stabs a broccoli floret. “No. Younger. A year behind me.”

“How do you know him?”

“School.” Aaron shrugs. “He’s advanced in some classes.”

Bee nods. She is probably weighing the pros of being advanced and the cons of living with the Moriyamas. They are a very big con.

“Okay,” Bee finally says. “If you want to, bring him over for dinner tomorrow.”

Andrew glares at his brother. Aaron is too stupid to notice.

-

Neil tells Ichirou he is going to dinner at Aaron’s.

That’s the trick; Riko, for all his haughty superiority, hasn’t figured it out. Or maybe he’s just too proud to admit it.

Anyway, Ichirou is at the dinner table with his glasses on and his expensive shoes on the chair across from him when Neil comes up. Neil doesn’t even bother stopping for long on his way to the kitchen; he just pauses and says, “I’m going to Aaron’s in a few hours for dinner.”

He keeps walking to the cabinets, reaching for a glass, and Neil only hears Ichirou shift in his seat. He pretends not to pay attention, but paying attention is a hard habit to break, especially when _not_ doing so used to end in more than a verbal warning.

“That’s one of the twins.”

For now, at least, Ichirou isn’t bothered. “Yes.”

Maybe Stuart called. Neil doesn’t want to think about that, though, so he concentrates on pouring a glass of water. Ichirou hums, noncommittal, and he takes a sip of coffee. Neil hears the mug tap against the table.

“Ten o’clock.”

Neil hates it for other reasons, but he says it because he knows he has to. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

 **jos10:** omw in 5

 **2a2m:** what did he say

 **jos10:** nothing

 **2a2m:** really

 **jos10:** yeah rly

 **2a2m:** I don’t believe you

 **jos10:** don’t have to. B there in 4

 **2a2m:** …r u running

 **2a2m:** neil

 **2a2m:** abram

 **2a2m:** Josten

 **2a2m:** I swear to fucking god

* * *

Aaron is almost pacing by the time Neil appears, not even out of breath when he jogs up to the porch.

“You should have told me. We could have picked you up.”

Neil shrugs. “Wasn’t far.”

“Neil.”

“Aaron.”

“Aaron?” Bee calls from inside. She was probably watching from the kitchen window. “Don’t leave the door open.”

Neil tenses up—it’s barely noticeable; he’s so good at hiding things. Except Aaron knows him, and he knows when Neil is becoming cagey. This is one of those times.

This might be the worst idea he’s ever had. But.

Bee won’t let him over if she doesn’t meet Neil, first, and Aaron can’t leave Neil alone with Riko all the time.

Riko’s a dick.

“Come on,” Aaron murmurs. He tries not to command, because Neil doesn’t do commands when he’s like this. They only make him worse.

At least Neil doesn’t run. He follows Aaron into the house and Aaron tries to think that everything will be fine. That Andrew won’t completely mentally dismember Neil.

This is a _very_ bad idea.

Bee smiles when she sees Neil. “Hi. I’m Betsy; you can call me Bee.”

“Neil.” He looks at the offered hand for a moment and Aaron can practically see Neil screaming inside at having to touch a stranger. He shakes Betsy’s hand as briefly as possible and withdraws like a Venus flytrap, curling in on himself as he follows Aaron into the kitchen.

“We’re having pasta,” Betsy says helpfully. “Aaron told me you don’t have any allergies.”

She probably means it as a question or an opportunity for Neil to speak, but Neil doesn’t do cues. Half the time he misses them and the other half, he pretends to miss them to avoid them.

Aaron directs Neil toward the table with a press to his elbow. _This might not be so bad, right?_

Andrew’s at the table with a knife.

For a fleeting moment, Aaron pictures Andrew stabbing Neil at the dining room table and dumping spaghetti on his bloody chest.

“Did you finish with the lemons?” Bee walks around the table and Andrew, pointedly ignoring the tension in the room.

Andrew glances at Neil. He twirls the knife in his hand. It is far too big to be using on lemons. “Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Aaron takes the opportunity to gauge just how completely broken Neil is.

Funny enough, when Aaron looks at his best friend, Neil is only looking at Andrew with mild curiosity.

_Right. I forgot, Neil’s a damn weirdo, too._

Bee comes out of the kitchen with a giant bowl of salad. “Aaron, will you help your brother bring the plates?”

Aaron glances at Neil, who simply raises an eyebrow, as if to say _I’ll be alive when you get back._ Somehow, it’s not comforting.

“Okay.”

Andrew attempts to trip Aaron on the way to the kitchen, but Aaron is watching out for his shit. He hisses under his breath, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Andrew’s gaze slides to the dining room. “I thought he was shorter.”

 _God._ Aaron walks past Andrew and tries to load as many plates in his arms as he can. He rushes within reason to get back and finds Andrew paying far too much attention to the plates he is setting on the table.

Neil, meanwhile, is watching Andrew with something like interest. He’s almost like a cat waiting to approach a human, gauging whether he should curl around the leg or brush past.

“You can sit.” Bee smiles and passes Neil a glass of water. “You’re our guest. Anyway, the boys can handle it.”

Aaron watches Neil’s eyebrows raise at _boys_. He is holding back a snort. Aaron almost kicks him, but he doesn’t want to drop pasta on the table.

“Okay.” Neil sits next to Aaron’s seat. His movements are practiced—side-effects of living with the Moriyamas. Neil has the etiquette of a rich man and the wardrobe of a homeless teenager. Andrew was suspicious about that, at first.

Aaron attempted to tell Andrew it wasn’t his business who Aaron’s friends were. He’s used the Kevin card, too, because he isn’t above some low blows. He and Andrew are brothers, after all.

Bee waves at them to sit. “How was the test, Andrew? It was this morning, right?”

Andrew shrugs. “Easy.”

Aaron listens to Andrew stab his salad a little too enthusiastically. The clink of a fork against a shallow bowl rings in his head. He makes a note to drop Andrew’s glasses into the trash can when he showers.

Neil is _still_ watching Andrew and Aaron wants to crawl out of his skin. He’s not sure what is going to happen. If Neil is going to prod Andrew into shivving him, or if Andrew is going to take the initiative and murder Neil with a butter knife.

Bee is the one that distracts him. She is probably trying to distract Andrew, too. “You two have a field trip coming up, don’t you? The one class you share?”

“I still think you should have let us take separate classes,” Andrew muses. “We could have pulled off a long con.”

“We aren’t identical,” Aaron retorts. “Yes, it’s next week. Monday.”

“The caverns, right?” Bee twirls her fork and manages to be completely silent. Andrew does not. “I remember you went in elementary, too.”

“Aaron fell that time, too.”

“Too? Are you psychic, or just planning murder again?” Aaron shoots his brother a withering look. Andrew doesn’t answer.

Bee sighs. “Please, boys.”

It is at this point that Aaron realizes Neil is watching the entire thing, eyes bouncing back and forth like he’s watching a tennis match. There’s a tiny curl at the corner of his mouth; the closest Neil comes to a smile, in front of strangers. It puts Aaron at ease.

Enough so that the rush probably renders him stupid enough to continue what he shouldn’t be doing.

“That’s one of the only classes Neil isn’t ahead in,” Aaron submits. He is being stupidly bold, but there is no other way to be, when you are a twin to Andrew.

“Aaron mentioned you were ahead.” Bee directs this to Neil, patient hand reaching for her wine glass. “I don’t know how that works. Did you test out of the classes?”

Neil shrugs. “I took some kind of test when I moved. Ichi—I mean, my guardian set it up. I didn’t do my schedule.”

Bee hums thoughtfully. Andrew spins his fork lazily in his pasta and cocks his head at Neil. “You live with the Moriyamas.”

Aaron kicks Andrew under the table. Andrew doesn’t look over.

“I do.” Neil doesn’t look up. He is patiently winding spaghetti around his fork.

“How’s that? Riko is a dick.”

Bee slides Andrew a warning look. Neil misses it; he’s still looking down. He shrugs. “He’s not much of a bother.”

Neil finally looks up, and the gaze he levels at Andrew is absolutely cool and blue. Aaron smiles to himself.

Neil _is_ a damn weirdo. It seems to be coming in handy.

Of course, then, Aaron recognizes the flicker of Neil’s gaze as he assesses Andrew, and he does not like what he sees.

Oh. _Oh no._

This is not what he wanted. Not the simmering tension between Neil and Andrew. Aaron can see where the collision is going to end and suddenly, he very much wishes he had wormed his way out of dinner.

“Your uncle lives abroad, right?” Bee offers the salad to Neil, but he declines it with the most polite hand Aaron has ever seen. “That must be difficult, to be separated from your only family.”

“I guess.” Neil’s gaze flickers to Aaron and he smile twists a little, struggling to break free. “But I hear that you need a break from your family, sometimes.”

Bee laughs. Whatever else is going on, at least she likes Neil. _But at what cost?_

Andrew kicks Aaron under the table. He’s wearing his steel-toe boots. Aaron bites back a hiss and glares daggers at Andrew, who slurps his pasta noisily.

Andrew ends up splattering Neil’s nose with pasta sauce.

Neil just blinks and looks down at his nose, cross-eyed. Aaron wants to bury his face in his hands. Andrew freezes in his seat, mouth still messy as he stares at Neil.

Bee sighs patiently. “Andrew.”

“My bad,” Andrew says, eyebrows raised toward his forehead. Neil just wipes it off with a finger and licks it. Andrew’s mouth flattens into a thin line.

 _Kill me, kill me now,_ Aaron chants to himself.

Everything is a blur. Aaron vaguely recognizes that they finish eating while Bee asks vague questions and Neil gives vague answers. By the time their plates are empty, Aaron’s shins feel bruised to hell and Andrew’s fingers are clearly itching for a knife.

“I’ll help,” Neil says, charming as always, gathering empty plates as Bee stands. She smiles and tells him he’s so helpful, how sweet, he must be a dream to live with.

When they disappear into the kitchen, Aaron leans over the tablecloth and glares at Andrew. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” Aaron hisses, glancing back at the kitchen. Bee is passing Neil the milk carton.

Andrew shrugs. “I really don’t, Aaron. You’ll have to be more specific—”

“ _You can’t like him._ ”

“Oh, I hate him.” Andrew stands his fork up on its tines. “But I—”

“ _I swear to God_ —”

“Boys. There’s pie,” Bee announces. She sets it down on the table and then—

—then, at the same time, neither of them willing to break eye contact, Andrew and Aaron answer, “Thanks, Mom.”

The pie slides a little from Bee’s hand and Neil audibly snorts, coughing as quietly as someone who snorted milk through their nose can. His eyes are watering, and he looks like he wants to laugh. He turns halfway so he doesn’t have to look at the twins.

Aaron stares at the pie. He wonders if he could hide his face in it. Andrew is absolutely still; it is the closes to mortified Aaron has seen him.

Neil’s shoulders are fucking shaking and Aaron wants to end it all right then and there.

“Ah. So, it’s nice to know you see me as a mother figure,” Bee tries to joke, but she’s flushed.

Andrew immediately snaps back with, “Bother figure.”

“Don’t say that,” Aaron retorts.

Neil gingerly makes his way around the table, glass of milk in hand and sleeve wet from mopping his face. He takes his seat almost silently and Aaron thinks, for one blessed moment, that it will all pass—

—and then Neil says, without missing a beat, “I like dinner at your house better.”

* * *

 **2a2m:** i s2g if u tell anyone what happened i will kill u

 **jos10:** sure, sweetheart

 **2a2m:** WHAT

 **jos10:** if you're baring your heart, may as well. im in love, aaron. we're going to have a family

 **2a2m:** fuck off

 **jos10:** oh i will. just thought i'd let u know b4 andrew did

 **2a2m:** NEIL

 **2a2m:** NOT FUNNY

 **2a2m:** DON'T IGNORE ME NEIL

 **jos10:** im going to bed. love u 2 bro

 **2a2m:** asshole

 **2a2m:** ilu asshole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all she wrote folks  
> she dead now


End file.
